


Turning Point

by irisbleufic



Series: One Step Away 'Verse (& Related Excursions) [3]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's knowing your limits, and there's deciding they don't apply.</p><p>
  <span class="small">[Set between the June 13 – 15, 1986 and June 28 – 30, 1986 sections of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3298754/chapters/7813874"><i>Open Your Eyes</i></a>, but gives enough context to be read as a stand-alone if hurt-comfort along the lines of <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5384321">Red Tape</a></i> is what you want.  The latter isn't part of this series.]</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Point

**June 20, 1986**

"Earth to McFly," Tiff said, knocking lightly on Marty's forehead, startling him out of a daze. She took the screwdriver out of Marty's hand and waved it in front of his face. "Graduation sure didn't help you out too much, huh?" she asked, brows knit in concern. "Are you sick or somethin'?"

Marty used the nearest rag he could find to mop at his forehead, rolled up the sleeves of his t-shirt, and snatched back the screwdriver. "Of course I'm not," he said. "I was just...uh, distracted."

"Yeah, I bet you are," said Tiff, slyly, lowering her voice as she glanced back over her shoulder at the main workspace to make sure Doc was still preoccupied with the task of fitting Einstein with some kind of contraption that was _far_ less unwieldy than the old mind-reading device. "Bet you can't wait to get your stuff moved into the house. Get all shacked up with your mad scientist."

"We're not talking about this," said Marty, cheerfully, making sure the metal plates were lined up before turning the screw into place. " _No_ , you can't help. I recruited Dave and Linda."

"Family bonding time," said Tiff, smirking. "You don't like it any more than I do. What gives?"

"Dave's kind of an asshole about this whole thing," said Marty, evasively, setting down the screwdriver. Even though the Garage 2.0 was better ventilated than the old one had ever been, he felt like he might keel over if he didn't step outside for some air. "I guess it weirds him out."

Tiff shrugged, following Marty around the side of the counter, shedding her grease-streaked lab apron while she was at it. "Not everybody's as ahead of the curve as we are," she said conspiratorially, holding the door open for Marty. They stood in the driveway, squinting.

"That's for sure," Marty said, wishing he could tell her just how accurate that statement was. Marty peeled off the gloves he'd been wearing and let them drop, swaying a little where he stood. "You might be onto something," he said. "Heat-stroke, maybe? Gonna get some water up at the house."

Tiff stepped in front of Marty, getting right in his personal space. She touched Marty's forehead again, but not with intent to knock on it or deliver a stinging flick. "Cat on a tin roof," she said.

"We've been working too long," Doc said, emerging from the garage, mopping at his brow in agreement. "You'd better get home," he told Tiff. "You should've left about ten minutes ago."

"I was gonna call Dad and tell him I was having dinner with you guys," said Tiff, hopefully.

"Did you take Einie out of that contraption, Doc?" Marty asked, shading his eyes. "Where is he?"

Doc gestured toward the house, where Einstein was waiting on the front stoop with ears perked.

"You'll do no such thing, Miss Tannen," he replied, indicating Tiff's bike. "Good work today."

"C'mon, you don't gotta be all professional and shit," Tiff protested, but she unlocked her bike from the mailbox anyway. "Or if you're gonna be, at least use _Ms._ I've been trying that one out."

"See you soon, Tiff," Marty sighed, starting for the house. "Doc'll get with the program eventually."

Doc got to the front door before Marty did, so he wasn't about to complain about having it held open for him, not given how his vision was swimming from the contrast between garage and bright sunlight and now this cool, air-conditioned interior with its new-house smell. Doc squinted at Marty while they took off their shoes, frowning. He held Marty's elbow to steady him.

"Maybe you should go upstairs and shower," Doc suggested. "Don't run it too high. Lukewarm."

"That oughta help," Marty agreed, clapping Doc on the shoulder. "Thanks. Won't take too long."

Marty got through scrubbing himself down with Ivory soap and halfway into washing his hair before deciding that sitting down under the spray to let it do the rinse-work for him was a good idea. And he didn't wake up until Doc, apparently having joined him without wanting to wake him, was finishing up with the shampoo and peering down at him with vague concern through the deluge.

"You looked so peaceful," explained Doc, chagrined. "I planned to wake you once I'd finished."

"Ugh," Marty said, running his fingers through his hair. "Still suds galore. I failed at that one."

"Come here," Doc said, tugging Marty to his feet. He braced Marty against his chest, letting Marty's head rest against his shoulder as he worked out the shampoo with efficient fingertips.

"I should ask you for head massages more often, you know that?" Marty sighed, feeling less tired than before, but still slightly disoriented. He hummed, feeling his body respond to the attention. He could practically picture the conflicted look on Doc's face even though he had his eyes shut.

"You need some water, and then you need to lie down for a while," said Doc, decisively, releasing him, turning off the water. "Get a towel and wait in the bedroom. _Go_. I'll get you a drink."

Marty had only managed to get himself partly dried off by the time, bath-robed and flustered, got back from the kitchen with a can of Pepsi instead of the promised water. "You shouldn't have."

"Some caffeine might help," Doc said, opening it for him, sitting down beside him on the mattress.

Marty drank about a third of the can before setting it on the nightstand. He gave Doc a coaxing look, unbelting the bathrobe, which he'd only done a half-assed job of tying. "Hey," he said.

Doc sighed, but he humored Marty, didn't try to stop him from delivering the kind of gentle, questioning touch that'd get him to cave in no time. "Marty, that feels—but you're not—"

Marty slid out of Doc's lap and flopped back against the pillows, tugging Doc's wrist. "Would you shut up and not look a gift horse in the mouth already?" he asked, smugly satisfied when Doc cuddled up against him front to front. He gave a slight push against Doc's hips. "Drawer?"

"Picking up where we left off at the lake?" Doc ventured, reaching to pry the drawer open and rummage for what Marty wanted. "Wouldn't advise anything different, not with the state you're in."

"Nah, not even that," Marty sighed, content to watch Doc nearly spill the entire bottle while nervously slicking his fingers. "Just thought it'd feel...y'know. Nice like..." He took the bottle away from Doc, snapped it shut, tossed it to the foot of the bed, and then dragged Doc's hand to where he wanted it, using Doc's fingers to pump himself slow and easy. " _Mm_. That."

"As long as you're..." Doc trailed off, distracted by the kiss Marty was offering him. "Sure?"

"I might fall asleep before you get anywhere with this," Marty admitted, grinning against Doc's lips, "but can you blame me? It's relaxing." He sucked in his breath as Doc's grip on him tightened slightly. "Might not even stay conscious long enough to— _shit_. To, um—"

"You don't have to worry about me," murmured Doc, his tone reassuring and mischievous right in Marty's ear. "I'm enjoying this encounter as it is, so don't lift a finger. Although I'm concerned..."

That combined with the brush of Doc's knuckles right along Marty's jawline brought on an orgasm so swift and intense it made Marty's toes curl.

Doc caught his breath, cupping Marty's cheek while he watched Marty's eyes with guileless adoration. Keeping his eyes open while he was coming had always been a struggle, but it was worth it for those rare times Marty _did_ manage to catch Doc's expression while Doc watched him.

Marty shivered, still riding out the aftershocks. "You okay, Doc?"

"Are _you_ all right?" Doc asked, the back of his hand pressed to Marty's temple.

"Hey, _ah_ ," Marty croaked weakly, finally letting his eyes slide shut, succumbing to the flushed, dizzy sensation that he hadn't managed to kick since Tiff's departure. "Just look at you, Doc. You must be close, huh?" He caught Doc's mouth in a bruising kiss, grinding against Doc in spite of how hypersensitive everything felt. The lube definitely helped, and, _fuck_ , Doc was _so hard_ against him, like _hell_ Marty wouldn't lift a finger. Recognizing he'd been given permission, Doc whimpered and clutched at Marty's shoulders, Marty's hips, the back of Marty's neck, his thighs trembling. " _Mmm_ , jeez," Marty mumbled against Doc's mouth, steadying one of Doc's hands at his hip, “love you so much. C'mon, I wanna feel you all over—"

"Too warm," Doc croaked, his fingers slipping from Marty's hair, his palm pressed to Marty's temple as Doc's jaw went slack with surprise. Marty congratulated himself on having worked out just what kind of stuff to say to make that happen, sucking on Doc's lower lip, dazed as they moved against each other through the intensity of Doc's shudders. "Marty, listen to me," he panted, more articulate now, brushing Marty's forehead with concerned fingertips. "You were burning up even before, _before_ this," he added, squeezing Marty for emphasis. "Your skin feels hot."

"Hot against _your_ skin?" Marty ventured teasingly, attempting to deny that he might be experiencing actual chills. "You turn me on, how is that anything out of the...ordinary..." He closed his eyes, unfocused as Doc rolled him over onto his back. Marty felt heavy-headed against the pillow as Doc cleaned them off with his damp bathrobe and Marty's abandoned towel, scratching his fingernails contentedly against the worn sheets.

"Just stay put," Doc murmured, hand splayed against Marty's chest. "I'll be back in a minute."

Marty had all but drifted off by the time Doc came back, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pressed something cold against Marty's lower lip. It took Marty about three seconds to register that the odd sensation was a glass thermometer, so he opened his mouth and let Doc insinuate it beneath his tongue. He clamped down on it with lightly-clenched teeth like he'd done so many times in the school nurse's office, or at home when he'd been too sick to go to school in the first place.

Doc stroked Marty's hair for a little while, his concerned expression resolving into something of an apologetic smile when Marty opened his eyes a fraction. "Let me see," he sighed at length, removing the thermometer from Marty's mouth. "You're running thirty-seven point nine degrees centigrade. Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah," Marty muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, right? Fever."

"You're not too ill to run conversions in your head, I see," Doc said, setting the thermometer where the washcloth had once been, "and, while that's reassuring, you need Tylenol and sleep." He got up again, went back into the bathroom, and came back with pills and a glass of water in hand.

Marty lifted his head, letting Doc push the bitter-tasting acetaminophen past his lips, swallowing with difficulty when the edge of the glass followed. What he really wanted was to gulp the rest of the Pepsi, but Doc would probably veto the idea. "Shit," he said, wiping at a few droplets that slid down his chin. "You're gonna get sick, too, Doc. I just shared every germ I've got."

"That remains to be seen," said Doc, finishing what was left of the Pepsi before taking the glass off of Marty and slipping back into bed. "My immune system's got a leg up on yours, remember?"

Marty had to laugh at that turn of phrase under the circumstances, but it came out as more of a muffled chirp against Doc's collarbone as Doc tugged up the covers. "That's one way of putting it," he said, kicking the covers back slightly, finding a happy medium. "You stole my Pepsi. Jerk."

Doc stroked Marty's back for the longest time, lulling him. He murmured something indistinct, but what Marty's muddled ears caught sounded an awful lot like _poor sweetheart._

"Say that again?" Marty mumbled, tucking his head more securely under Doc's chin. "I think sleep's like _this_ close to kicking my ass, and if I'm hallucinating, Doc, you've gotta enunciate."

"My poor sweetheart," Doc repeated, kissing Marty's forehead, about as devastated as he'd sounded in 1955. "How could I have been so careless? I shouldn't have let you over-exert yourself!"

Heat even greater than what already flared in every atom of Marty's being flooded out to the very edges of the room, like his nerves extended beyond the boundaries of his skin. "You didn't let me do anything," he said, rubbing between Doc's shoulder blades, marveling at how cool his skin felt in contrast to his own. "I persuaded you this was a great idea, Doc. Like I always do."

"You're lucky I'm at more liberty to agree now, Future Boy," Doc replied. "You should rest."

"Says the guy who gave me keys," Marty sighed happily. "Says the guy who built us a house."

"Marty, please," Doc whispered, fingertips running from Marty's wrist to his elbow. "Sleep."

"Everything's gonna work," said Marty, yawning. "Time's on our side for once. You'll see."


End file.
